The Amethyst Amulets

by Cillian Burns

  Lily leveled her gaze at him and ignored his question. “You rubbed the amulet, didn't you? The one Lady Julianne always wore."

  Nicholas glared. Something fluttered in his hand. He glanced down and realized he still clutched the necklace in his fist. He opened his hand and stared at it. “I believe I did. What has that to do with...all of this?"

  "The Arab you bought it from, didn't he tell you the amulet had magical properties?” She took the piece of jewelry from his palm and held it up. A stray sunbeam from one of the long, narrow windows caught the faceted cuts, sending twinkling sprays of color across the table.

  "Aye, but how did you...?"

  She interrupted. “You didn't believe it at the time. Do you now?"

  He shook his head. “Nay. You are making a fool of me."

  "I see you need convincing.” With a smile, Lily turned and swept her hand around. The huge chandelier hanging above them blazed with light, illuminating even the darkest corners of the great hall.

  Nicholas leaped to his feet. “What magic is this, witch?” He stared at the chandelier. The lights did not look like beeswax candles.

  "Not magic. Just what people today call electricity. You have come forward in time."

  Nicholas glanced around. The room smelled fresh and there were no rushes mixed with herbs on the floor. No dogs rooted for scraps, no people bustled in and out. Where were Sir Edgar and Nicholas's aunt, Lady Beatrix? For that matter, would he find Eleanor and baby Edward up in his solar?

  Mayhap what Lily said was so, but he would need more proof. “You lie,” he said with a scowl. Let her admit she had tricked him.

  "No, my lord, I do not lie. Please be seated and I will try to explain a few things to you."

  Nicholas fisted his hands on his hips. “You had best have a logical tale."

  Lily smiled. “Oh, yes, I have a good, if complicated, story to tell. Do I have your permission to recount what has happened?"

  "Aye,” he said wearily. “It can be no worse than what occurred last even and this morn.” He sank onto his high-backed oak chair and waited.

  "It is not bad, at all, milord. You're just in a different time. The place is the same."

  He nodded. “The latter is true. This is my keep."

  "Yes...many hundreds of years in the future. The year is 2009 AD. The month and day are the same as those you left."

  Nicholas raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “What? How can this be?"

  "You hold in your hand a magic amulet which makes all things possible."

  "You say my body has traveled somehow over the centuries?"

  "Well, not exactly. Your essence has traveled. Your body remained behind."

  "Nay. This looks like my... “Then he remembered thinking his hands and arms seemed different somehow. He gazed down at them.

  Again, Lily seemed to know his thoughts. “Exactly. You are using the body of a distant descendant of yours, the present Lord of Barstow. Coincidentally, his name is the same as yours."

  Nicholas gave his head a hard shake. All this was beyond his comprehension. Pushing those thoughts aside, he decided to ask about the other witch. Lily had called her Julie. Julie could be short for Julianne.

  "Who is that woman who looks like Julianne? Has my wife somehow come forward to occupy the body of a living person?” he asked hopefully. If so, he would demand Lily find a way to return them to their own time. Mayhap this future woman had given Julianne a new life. His head began to ache from the strain of sorting all this out.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lord, Julianne is truly dead. This is Julie Summers, a woman of this time, who merely resembles her. She's a friend of your descendant, Nick de Montclair. Now, please listen carefully to me, Lord Nicholas. I have to go to my shop for a little while. As I said before, this castle belongs to your descendant. Go up to his solar. It is the same one you had. Stay there till I get back.” She glanced at the dirty clothes he wore. “Nick's been polishing armor again, I see. You'll find some clean clothes to wear."

  He glared. “I will do as I please in my own home,” he said stiffly. “I do not take orders from villeins."

  She ignored his words. “Tonight you're going to dinner at Julie's. Don't worry about finding her house. I'll drive you there."

  Her words made no sense. Drive? Did she think him a cow or sheep? Mayhap some form of fowl? He shook his head and scowled again. “Go get the witch and bring her back. I would question her.” Lily had already told him Julianne was dead, and this woman was merely someone who resembled her, but he would believe nothing until he heard it from the other woman's mouth. If necessary, he would kiss her. That would tell him much.

  "Later. She's busy now and so am I. I'll explain some more when I come back. I have a customer coming in soon.” She turned and walked swiftly away from him.

  "Wait! I order you!” he shouted. She ignored him, kept going, and disappeared through the front door of the keep.

  He had not thought of the bards—tourists the younger witch had called them—in quite a while. He looked around. They, too, had gone. Not that he cared. He wanted no gawking fools from some place called the States filling up his great hall. He was alone and his usual confidence had deserted him like rats from a sinking ship. The two witches ignored all his demands and left. Even the bards who had laughed at him had moved on.

  Nicholas sighed. The last thing he wanted was to converse with strangers or catch the eye of elderly crones. Mayhap he should do as Lily had ordered and go up to his solar, not because she had said it, but because he was curious, that was all.

  He started for the stairs, when a sudden growling in his stomach stopped him. He suspected shouting for Maud, the serving wench, would not produce the desired results. She seemed to have disappeared along with everyone else.

  Delicious odors wafting from somewhere made his stomach growl again, so he followed his nose. It did not lead him outside. The kitchen was no longer separate from the keep. What were these people thinking? The risk of fire made it dangerous to cook in the main building.

  He paused in the doorway and glanced around in amazement. It was like no kitchen he had ever seen. The smell of roasting meat seemed to come from a box made of polished metal.

  Tables fastened to the wall were covered in more metal. He started over to inspect them. Then the splashing of water caught his attention. It was running into one of two large boxes lined with more metal. What looked like the handle of a cooking pan stuck up above the water.

  "Hi, Nick. Ready for lunch?” A stout, middle-aged man wearing a white apron appeared and stopped the water from overflowing.

  Nicholas glared. “You will address me as Lord Nicholas. Since when have I encouraged such familiarity?"

  The short bald man grinned at him. “Very funny, Nick. I see you're playing the lord of the manor today.” He switched to French. “Lunch in fifteen minutes, milord. Shepherd's pie."

  Lunch? What was that? He hoped it might be a meal.

  The cook hurried across the room and yanked open the door to the metal box from which the enticing smells came. Nicholas's stomach rumbled again.

  After checking on the dish, the cook turned back to him. “Where do you want to eat today, Nick?” Nicholas was too hungry to remind him once more about his manner of address.

  He frowned. “Why, where I always dine. At the lord's table in the great hall."

  "You don't have to impress anyone. The morning tour just left. You—"

  Nicholas interrupted. “I said I would eat there. Now be so dutiful as to follow orders, my good fellow.” He stomped out of the kitchen. A glance over his shoulder told him the cook stood staring gape-mouthed after him. Well, let him look as long as he produced some food. Nicholas decided he would have time to look for his solar while he waited.

  Julie retrieved her bicycle from beside the castle's gate and pedaled furiously along the road to the university. She was going to be late. Nick's foolishness had taken more time than she had to spend.

 
What had gotten into him? Usually he was excited about the feast, more than ready to participate in the planning. Of course, when it came time to do the work involved, he usually wandered off to polish his collection of armor. She smiled. Nick wasn't really lazy, just a bit obsessed with his hobby. He viewed the thirteenth century as if it happened last year, not eight hundred years ago.

  Today his play-acting had gone beyond the usual amusing reenactment of a time long past. The vehemence in his voice as he spit out commands, the expression on his face when he accused her of being a witch, his body language—all were different. She could almost believe he was his infamous ancestor.

  That was silly, she told herself. Nick was just a kind, scholarly man who had once thought himself in love with her. The one time he'd kissed her, she'd felt no overwhelming passion as his lips met hers. When she gently turned him down, offering friendship and help with his accounts, he had accepted readily. Almost too readily to convince her that his heart had been in the kiss. Maybe he realized she could leave his employment to pursue her own interests, but if they married, his comfortable life would continue uninterrupted. Cynical? Yes, but more true than not. Nick's passion was reserved for his armor.

  The honk of a car horn startled her. Julie glanced back to see Lily's Ford Escort coming up behind her. Her friend waved a hand as she passed and shouted, “Hurry!"

  Julie laughed and called after the car, “I will."

  Then her laughter stilled. Lily was another out-of-the-ordinary person. You thought you knew her. Then she'd say something deep and prophetic that almost took your breath away with its wisdom. Also, one minute the village had had no hand-crafted jewelry store. Then overnight, one had appeared, along with Lily. No one knew where she had come from and if asked, she turned the question aside. After Julie poked around one day in Lily's shop, the two had become fast friends.

  Julie pumped harder and reached the university as the tower clock pealed the hour. Grabbing her gown, she ran inside and arrived at the classroom out of breath.

  Before she began her lecture, a quick thought raced through her mind. Tonight she'd watch Nick closely. Maybe she'd imagined the sudden passion in his voice. But low in her belly, a tiny flame flickered, a strange awareness, a sudden attraction to a man she thought she knew. She'd have to be careful not to fall for Mr. Wrong, because he'd suddenly grown a backbone. Nick had his own charm, but she was searching for a knight in shining armor. Not literally, of course.

  She arranged her notes on the podium and launched enthusiastically into her lecture. Life seemed a little more interesting than it had yesterday.

  Nicholas mounted the winding stairs leading to his solar. He opened the door to his bedchamber and stepped inside. He half expected to see Julianne lying on the bed and Eleanor and the other women preparing her body for burial. Not only was the room unoccupied, it looked nothing at all like his bedchamber. A large bed, very low to the ground with no curtains to keep out the harmful night air, met his gaze. On it lay some clothes.

  He went over and picked up a pair of loose leggings like the ones he wore, only cleaner. They were dark blue and made of some soft material he had never seen before. The opening was odd, metal of some kind. Curious. He dropped them and inspected the shirt. It seemed very short, had expensive pearl buttons down the front and a strange looking collar. A clean fresh odor emanated from it. On the floor were some more white shoes only cleaner than the ones he wore. On the bedpost hung a short surcoat made of multicolored wool.

  He shed his dirty garments and dropped them on the floor. Will, his squire, would see to them. Or mayhap not. He found some kind of stretchy short stockings tucked in the shoes and slipped them over his feet. A few trial and error attempts and the leggings slid up over his hips. That clever closing could be dangerous to his manhood, he thought with a wry grin. He pulled on the shirt, buttoned it up to his neck, and reached for the shoes.

  They did not look comfortable, but were, he admitted grudgingly. He stood and looked around again. Where was the garderobe? He had become aware of a mounting need to locate it. It used to be down the hall. However, when he searched the corridor outside his door, he could not find it. Back inside his bedchamber, he noticed another door which had not been there in the past. He yanked it open and stopped, speechless.

  A large tub, made of some kind of white, marble-like material, took up one wall. It would take many buckets of hot water to fill that, he mused. A basin made of the same substance was set into a table. Tentatively, he gave one of its glass knobs a push. Hot water splashed his hand. Not a bad idea to conduct water directly into the basin. But, how to keep it hot? The answer to that defied him for the moment.

  Next, he turned his attention to the strangely shaped white object squatting on the floor. His mind told him what it had to be. He pushed the handle down. Water swirled in the bowl and disappeared. He had heard of a duke who had a stream running under his garderobe. Quite obviously, someone had diverted a stream into this bowl. Ingenious. He would have to make some changes when he arrived back in his own century—if he ever did. A queasy feeling squeezed his gut as he realized he had just accepted Lily's claim of traveling through time. Best not to dwell on that right now. He would ask Lily for more explanations when she returned.

  He used the facilities and once more admired the efficient disposal of waste, but these wonders began to pale in view of his need to fill his complaining stomach. Best he descend and see what the disrespectful cook had prepared for his dinner. If the food was as spectacular as the other marvels he had glimpsed, he might enjoy his stay in this century more than he had thought.

  Then he remembered his one-day-old motherless son and dismissed the wonders of the future. He had a child to raise and protect from Miles. The immediate problem was how to get back and attend to his pressing affairs. When his stomach was full, he could attack the matter more logically.

  He hurried down the winding stairs, anxious to partake of what the cook had prepared. Almost anything would please him right now. Problem solving could wait until later.

  As he finished the last of the delicious shepherd's pie, Lily appeared again. He laid down his spoon and scowled at her. “Have you come back to answer some of my questions?” he inquired in none too pleasant a tone.

  She nodded and stood respectfully before him. “There are several things you should know before you confront them yourself and are bewildered."

  "Only several? If I am where you say, and mind you, I am not sure I accept your explanation, there will be hundreds of things I need to know.” He really hated to admit it. Being in charge of his life was something he had done well until the last day or so.

  "That is true.” Lily stared off across the hall as if in deep thought. He waited.

  After a minute, she turned her gaze on him. “Let's begin with your body."

  "Nay, you may forget my body. That is one thing I do understand."

  "Are you sure? Have you looked closely at it since you got here?"

  Nicholas held out his hands, then remembered thinking they did not look right.

  They seemed paler and less calloused than he remembered. And the scar which ran from the thumb of his left hand across the palm was missing. “I see only less darkness of skin and that a minor scar is gone."

  Lily smiled. “Exactly. Check your shoulder later, the one which took the blow from the Saracen scimitar. You will find no scar there either."

  Amazed, he raised his eyes to hers. “How could this be, woman? Tell me!"

  "One more thing. Did you cut your hair since this morning, Lord Nicholas?"

  His hand felt for his shoulder-length hair and met only empty space. “Nay. What has happened to it?"

  "This is not your body,” Lily said. “We have just proved it."

  "Ridiculous,” he scoffed, picking up his cup and quaffing a large swallow of ale. “Who else's could it be?"

  "I told you before. It belongs to the present lord of Barstow Castle, Nick Montclair."

  "You
jest,” he scoffed. “I can feel my arms and legs and walk and eat."

  "What has happened is a phenomenon called essence transference. Your mind, your spirit, your soul are here, but your body remains firmly entrenched in the thirteenth century.” His mouth dropped open. “I do not believe such a thing could happen."

  Lily lifted an eyebrow. “Really? So how do you explain your existence here?"

  "I can scarcely believe it, much less explain,” he muttered, shaking his head skeptically.

  "Believe."

  "So where is this Nick, my descendant?"

  "Dormant. You, the stronger personality, have taken over."

  "And what of my own body, the one you so carelessly left in the thirteenth century?” he demanded, shaking with rage at what Lily claimed to have done.

  "Your body is suspended in the time you left. When you return, not even a minute will have passed since you transferred here."

  "Well, that is a relief,” he sneered. “Considering my wife has just died and Miles is a threat to my little son. Why am I here? Am I to find a solution to my problems?"

  "I believe so,” Lily replied softly. “There is an answer for you if you will but seek it."

  Nicholas snorted. “And from now on, my chickens will lay golden eggs."

  "I doubt it,” Lily said with a chuckle.

  Although far from satisfied with the woman's explanation, he changed the subject. “Tell me more about this witch who looks like Julianne. Who walks about so immodestly clad and gives me orders?"

  "I told you her name before. Julie Summers. She lives alone in a cottage in Barstow Village and teaches medieval studies and Norman French at Cambridge."

  "She teaches?” Nicholas was aghast. Women knew nothing save how to do housewifely tasks and run a castle properly for their husbands. They most certainly did not teach. Why, Julianne could not even read. “What does she teach—cooking?” he said sarcastically refusing to acknowledge the subjects Lily had mentioned could be taught by a woman.